Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen
by C. Topper Preston
Summary: Please, feel free to bash me for writing this. The Fab-four have suddenly become the Sad-three. They lost one of their own...one they loved dearly. Even if you don't read the story, PLEASE read Author's Note at end. Thanks.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. They all belong to CBS or whoever owns them right now. The title "Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen" belongs to FOX and the creators of M*A*S*H.

Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen.

They never thought they'd see the day when it wouldn't be the four of them. The crime solving quartet, the four musketeers, some would even say the "Fab Four". 

Now as they stand over the freshly dug grave, they wonder what they are going to do now. Hanging their heads, they silently wept for their lost friend…lost son…lost brother…and lost partner. 

He was so young and full of life when he first came to LA straight from Indiana. All he ever wanted to do was help people, he didn't care how he did it, as long as he helped. He could be annoying at times and rather gullible…but for the most part everyone loved him. The born detective and down right "Curious George", he always found someway of getting himself into some kind of trouble. But no matter how bad it seemed, he was always able to get out of it. Maybe that's why everyone found it so hard to believe that now he was gone. 

Steve always told him never touch anything; Mark always told him to be careful; Amanda was always there to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble, just like a mother hen. The job was risky, that much he knew. He just didn't think it was THAT risky. 

It was suppose to be easy. He'd seen Steve burst into drug busts a thousand times. Seen Mark piece parts of a mystery puzzle together so many times it was like second nature now. He didn't think it would be that hard to take this gang on and bust them. 

He walked into the warehouse cool and prepared, ready to take on the world if need be. No one knew who he was, or that he was helping the LAPD…not even the LAPD. He was conducting business just as he had hoped he would without any problems. None that is until one of the gang members pulled out a badge and a gun screaming that he was with the PD and they were all under arrest. 

The place went crazy, he was stuck in the middle of it all having no clue what to do or where to go. He heard screaming and yelling; his head was spinning. He wanted to run and hide, wanted to be back at the hospital where it was safe. Where the only time he'd make contact with these people is when they'd be rushed to the ER once everything was over. Shots began to be fired. He didn't know where they were coming from, or whom they were coming from. He suddenly wished that he had never come there without telling anyone. 

Things began to blur together and suddenly everything went slow motion. He heard the gunfire, saw it pointed at him, and even saw who was shooting it, He just couldn't move fast enough to get away from the burning pain racing through his chest. He fell to the ground, tears stinging his eyes. Knowing that he wasn't going to make it, he became extremely afraid of dying. No one knew he was there, everyone there thought he was with the gang…a druggie…a common pot head. 

The gunfire stopped. He heard nothing except distant voices that he thought he knew at one point.

"Jesse? Jesse can you hear me?!"

"C'mon Jess, you can pull though. Open your eyes and look at me. You can do it Jess."

"I'm sorry Steve…I didn't know who he was. I thought he was one of them. I ordered him against the wall…when he didn't move I…………"

"Jesse? Why didn't you tell us you were coming down here? You knew better."

He opened his glassy eyes and looked at his grief stricken friends faces. Mustering the best smile he could around his pain, he opened his mouth to talk.

"I'm sorry…I tried…"

"Don't talk Jesse. You can explain everything later."

"And you better explain everything later or I'll never forgive you."

"Please…I'm sorry…I wanted to…to…help." Struggling to take in air, he began to close his eyes again as blackness and cold began to surround him.

"I'm sorry…Mark. Ste…ve…I'm…………sorry." His body went limp in his friends' arms as his last breath escaped his lungs. 

"Jess? Jesse? Jesse?!" 

"He's gone Steve."

They hung their heads and looked at the blood soaked doctor who was only trying to help. One couldn't help but give a small smile as they saw how peaceful he looked. Laying him back down on the ground, they collected the surviving criminals and handcuffed them.

Police came in paddywagons to pick up the load of drug dealers, and buyers while coroners bagged the bodies of those who didn't make it to take to the city morgue. All the bodies sent there, except his. His was sent to a funeral home to await the ceremony. 

He had always been told that curiosity killed the cat, but he never thought that someday it would mean literally for himself. He should have known better than to go alone and with out telling anyone, but he didn't care. He was doing what he thought was right…he thought he could help his friends by doing what he did. 

They never thought they'd see the day when it wouldn't be the four of them. The crime solving quartet, the four musketeers, some would even say the "Fab Four". 

Now as they stand over the freshly dug grave, they wonder what they are going to do now. Hanging their heads, they silently wept for their lost friend…lost son…lost brother…and lost partner. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE END~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note: Some of you might remember the fight that went on last year (Some of you better than others). I'd just like to say that the fight was unnecessary if everyone would have just chosen his or her words a little more carefully last year (myself included). Corky was just trying to stick up for what she thought was right…she was standing up for a friend when no one else would. She had no right to say the things she did about the English/British. I'd just like all of you to know though, she'll no longer be doing any of that, nor finishing any of her stories. I got a phone call today at class; Corky—Lyssa—was killed in a car accident late Friday night, early Saturday morning.

She was on her way home from Chicago when she hit a patch of ice on the road and slid into an oncoming semi-truck. Lyssie shouldn't have been out driving that night to begin with; she was not herself that night. 

As I said last year, holiday's always made her sad…but the reviews that she got made things worse. One of you said she had either an extremely large ego or a massive inferiority complex going on…She ALWAYS felt inferior to everyone else on the site. Other's still accuse her of making a writer leave the site. I ask you all nicely, it happened a year ago…please just let it stay in the past? In the words of my father you "cried your river" last year when you were attacking her now "make a bridge and get over it!" Don't you get it? The last thing she read that night was reviews reopening wounds she thought had healed. She had apologized for the things she said countless times but those of you who still attacked her wouldn't listen to her.

Now, I'm not saying because of you she's dead…that's the last thing I meant to imply. I'm merely saying that now no one will have to worry about her "instigating" anymore fights on the site. All she ever wanted was to be as good of a writer as everyone else on the site and have a good story that people would like and enjoy…but some of you (Notice I'm not naming names?)weren't that supportive of her and made your reviews sound more like flames than constructive criticism. In honor of her though…I'm going to repost her "Wrongfully Accused" and finish the final chapter for her. So please, feel free to continue to bash upon myself or my writings…just leave Lyssie out of it from now on. Lyssie was the sweetest person alive if some of you would have given her a chance and not judged her on what happened a year ago. I for one am going to miss her dearly. 

Lyssie "Corky" Higgins

1986-2003


End file.
